


Tessellate

by monoxidegirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel True Forms, Demon True Forms, M/M, Porn with Feelings, reverse!verse, some hints at wing!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2035707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monoxidegirl/pseuds/monoxidegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The End is nigh and Crowley would really just like to stay out of his brother's battles - except a certain King of the Crossroads is determined to drag him back in to Heaven's war, no matter what the cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tessellate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenmage128](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmage128/gifts).



> This fic started off as something short meant as a gift to Margaret when we started talking about Reverse!verse Growley headcanons. Somehow, it evolved waaaaay beyond that in to this monstrosity of a thing and I don't know how or why but here it is, my attempt at a reverse!verse Growley fic. /hides.
> 
> I take a lot of liberties with canon and demon/angel true forms, because whatever, I can and it worked out and I don't care. There is some porny bits in this. Okay, there is a major porny scene in this and I don't usually write smut for public consumption but here we are.
> 
> Major shout out to Greenmage128 again, because she's put up with me rambling ENDLESSLY about my theories on Demon/Angel forms and the series timeline and character roles and my own stupid headcanons about things that go on in this universe. She also beta-read this monster and she made the album cover art for the soundtrack, which can be found right [here!](http://8tracks.com/monoxidegirl/tessellate)

_Sam Winchester is saved_.

Crowley is certain all of heaven rejoices when it happens, when Ruby and her garrison succeed in drawing the youngest Winchester off Naomi's rack, when she leads the charge and drags him up from The Pit and rebuilds his tattered body.

 _Sam Winchester is saved_.

Sam Winchester, the righteous man - younger brother to Dean, the boy king of Hell, Michael's vessel. But even still, despite Heaven's success in raising the Lucifer sword, they are still at a glaring disadvantage. Only 66 of the Seals have to be broken to spring Michael from his cage, and Crowley can tell they're close to succeeding, the efforts spearheaded by Metatron, right hand demon to Michael. His eldest brother, the once favourite of God.

At any rate, Crowley is more than content to sit most of the fight out - he'd walked away from Heaven's war centuries ago. It hadn't been his concern then, and it certainly isn't his concern now. Let Lucifer and his soldiers fight this battle. Let them throw their lives away to save a world their Father had turned his back on. He didn't need it, and he didn't want it.

That's why, when sitting in his villa in a small coastal town in Florida, he's a bit surprised to sense the presence of a demon. Sulphur, then the unpleasant burn of some bastardized version of an angel's grace, and he can only sigh as he sets his book down and looks over one shoulder. Sure enough, in the door to the balcony, Gabriel is watching him. His true form seeps and flickers at the edges of his host body - massive horns of bone arch toward the ceiling and the burnt and tattered shapes of what might have been his wings shuffle restlessly against his back. He's smiling though, casual and comfortable, amber eyes bright. He blinks, and they shade black, and Crowley sighs.

"What do you want?"

Gabriel steps out of the villa and onto the balcony - past them, the sun sinks into the sea in a blaze of reds and oranges, and Gabriel pinches the edges of his wings as he goes past. Crowley frowns deeper and shakes his clawed fingers away.

"Sam Winchester is saved," Gabriel says.

"Yes, your point?"

Gabriel drops into the chair and grabs the nearby bottle of wine, pouring himself a glass. Trust the bastard to just make himself comfortable.

"That's what you feather-heads wanted, isn't it?" Gabriel prompts, his wings stretching out, pale membranes between the narrow bones flexing. The tip of one makes a point to smack the back of his head, and Crowley jerks forward then flares his own wings out enough to push at Gabriel's. He smiles, coy and teasing; "You wanted to save baby Winchester so he can say yes and lead the charge against big bad Michael, didn't you?"

"I could care less," Crowley replies with a roll of his eyes, sipping at his own glass of wine, "It's not my fight anymore. But please tell me you didn't just come here to share heaven's gossip with me. You know I'm still tuned in. Or you should. How long have we even been doing this? You were still a lowly crossroad demon when I met you."

Gabriel grins at him, "A lowly crossroad demon? Is that what you thought?"

"Utterly pathetic," Crowley notes, though he smiles at his glass, "You're still a touch pathetic. Conversing with an angel."

"This coming from aforementioned angel that is conversing with said pathetic crossroad demon?"

 _Touché_ , he thinks mid-sip. But he doesn't say that, just frowns against his glass, "Don't you have souls to steal? Babies to maim? Churches to defile?"

Gabriel's lips curl into a smile, devious and vicious but beautiful - the orange glow from the sunset makes his eyes gleam, the bones of his horns shining like polished ivory. He's actually quite magnificent in demon terms, far more regal than he would expect a crossroads demon to be but Crowley chalks that up to him being the King of the Roads and leaves it at that. Even if Gabriel were to tell him differently, he wouldn't believe him.

Demons lie.

"Regardless," Gabriel finishes his wine and sets the glass down, "You can't win."

"Can't?"

"No," Gabriel shakes his head, "The heavy-weight title is going to go to Michael. You know that as well as I do. Lucifer's strong, but he won't win. This world is meant for chaos."

Chaos - the apocalypse. Crowley sighs.

That's the only issue he has with this whole war. It reduced the planet to nothing more than a battleground, a mere casualty. It would be wiped out no matter who won, along with everything else. And it's a shame, really, because it's not an awful place. Crowley has grown accustomed to it over the centuries. He'd miss it when it was reduced to rubble.

"They're halfway through the seals. Sam Winchester broke in Hell and now demons are finishing what he started. Worldwide."

Crowley figured that would happen so he's not surprised.

"Priority number one. Even for my bunch."

That gives Crowley reason to pause, and he looks over at Gabriel and frowns. Crossroad demons not dealing is bizarre - the souls were Hell's usual number one priority. But them being put on hold...

"Who ordered that?"

"Metatron," Gabriel leans back and props his feet up on the table, "He is risen too, you know. All the bosses are coming up out of the woodwork. I hear even Naomi is looking for a suitable host to take."

Naomi coming away from the rack is worrisome enough.

"And what about the older Winchester?" Crowley asks, "He still has to consent. Michael is an angel, even if he's been to Hell and back. What if he doesn't?"

Gabriel shrugs, "I'm sure that's why they're sending Naomi to deal with him. She's very... persuasive."

Crowley makes a face, "I'm sure. And what about you? What's your stance on all this? You can't be completely indifferent."

"I want the world to not end," Gabriel says, like it should be obvious, "My business requires human souls to keep running. If those two chuckleheads wipe out the entire human race, then what am I left with?"

"...Nothing."

Gabriel leans forward to grab the bottle of wine, and he pours himself another glass. He sips at it then sighs.

"Besides that, what do you think Michael is going to do to us demons when he gets out? Once he's taken over heaven, he's going to obliterate us and have paradise all to himself. And, y'know, I'm surprisingly not okay with the idea of being smote by God’s former right hand dude. So that's my 'stance'. But what am I going to do? I'm in sales. Bargain my way out?"

Crowley shrugs, "Could make an appeal to the Winchesters to stop it."

"Right," Gabriel rolls his eyes, "That's if they don't both agree to be angel condoms. And say that they don't consent, you seriously think they're going to help someone like me?"

He blinks, and his eyes shift to black again, and Crowley holds back his cringe. He forgets what Gabriel is sometimes, that he's not an angel. He's very good at keeping his true essence hidden and out of sight, though sometimes it did bleed through enough that Crowley could see it. He sometimes wondered just how much of it he didn't see.

"Of course."

They sit in silence until long after the sun has sank down into the Atlantic Ocean. Gabriel polishes off his bottle of wine too. The night air is humid and warm and smells like salt, and he can hear the crash of waves as they hit the shore line.   Something hangs unspoken between him and the demon next to him, and after a while Gabriel sighs and stands up. He stretches, wings fluttering against his back and then looks over at him.

"So you're going to keep playing that whole 'ew demon' thing, huh?"

Crowley stares at him. Gabriel lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm not-"

"Might be our last night together," Gabriel says, making his way over to the balcony railing. He leans over it and looks down at the shore and he looks poised to jump. Crowley half expects him to do it, to just leap into the dark sky and take off. He doesn't, just sighs and turns to face him again; "If all this end of days crap comes to pass anyway."

Crowley frowns and sits forward a bit, "What do you know? You're not telling me everything."

"Me? C'mon, Angel. I'm a salesman. They don't tell me dick all."

"They don't have to tell you something for you to know it," Crowley argues, "Demons talk. What do you know?"

"You think I've got some big secret I'm keeping from you?" Gabriel asks, raising an eyebrow, "You overestimate me. And believe me, I'm flattered, but I'm just a lowly crossroad demon. Remember?"

"You're the bloody king. Don't even try that with me, Gabriel."

His wings shift, like he's proud of himself, and a smile curves his mouth. Crowley's own wings stir in response, and he sits up a bit more out of the chair. More and more of Gabriel's real form is bleeding through for him to see - the bones arching off his head grow longer and less opaque, less faint, and his wings stretch - he can see his claws now, and the amber of his eyes fade beneath the dark veil. He's magnificent and hideous and after a moment, he moves closer to kneel before him. His hands cup at his cheeks, and he leans in to press his mouth to his.

The smell of sulphur and burning flesh washes over him and when Gabriel speaks, his voice is a growl, low and guttural. He speaks Enochian, fluent and almost beautiful, and far better than he expected.

"I see you."

Crowley draws back to meet his eyes - they're dark and bottomless, black voids, and his lips are curled into a permanent smile. Crowley feels his grace start to flood free and loose, like waves, rolling down over him and his vessel. His wings stretch, burgundy red feathers with white down, and he reaches up to touch Gabriel's hands, still cupping his cheeks. He expects his grace to burn, and he does feel his skin sizzle, but he doesn't react, just blinks slowly.

"You can't hurt me," Gabriel says, "Show me."

Crowley is less concerned about hurting Gabriel and more about ruining his vessel. He pushes it back, keeps the grace at bay and instead reaches out to touch his face in return.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Slowly, bit by bit, the face of Gabriel's host returns, swallowing up the demon parts of him until it's just Gabriel again, same as always, amber eyes bright and teasing.

"You'll find out in due time, Angel," Gabriel says, drawing back from him to stand again, "If we make it through the end of the world, I'll tell you."

Crowley blinks, and then he's alone, with only the sound of the waves on the shore to keep him company.

 

* * *

_He is risen._

Michael walks the Earth again. Despite the best efforts of the Winchester boys, he roams free and clear and out for blood. Crowley, admittedly, isn't too surprised by this development. It hadn't taken him long to realize just what the Heavenly Host had been up to - the 66 Seals had been broken, Metatron's murder the final lock on Michael's cage. And it had been opened, all thanks to a demon named Castiel and the older Winchester's hunger for blood.

They had failed, and the apocalypse was coming.

_He is risen._

But consent is still the name of the game, and neither Lucifer nor Michael have gotten that. Crowley's still keeping his nose out of it - he has no interest whatsoever in pissing them off nor does he want to catch the attention of the Archangel Abaddon. And that's not even making mention of Hell and any of their agents that may see him as a threat needing to be eliminated. 

At some point, the Pagans are entirely wiped out. He feels the shift in power and knows that Michael is behind it, though why he can't be sure. He can only assume that they did something foolish to warrant his brother destroying them. Crowley is thankful once again that he's off the game board.

His little villa is an oasis within a desert, and he has no intention of going anywhere outside it.

Crowley can't say the same for Gabriel. The current King of the Crossroads has started to stick his neck out - though Crowley can't figure out why for the life of him. Nor can the angels, apparently - they buzz with confusion and concern, but Azazel seems confident he can reign in the youngest Winchester and get the yes he needs. Crowley knows Lucifer is a lot of things, but patient isn't really one of them. He's surprised he's lasted this long.

It's late, and he's asleep, when there's a crash from his living room. It sends him jolting upwards and granted, angels don't need to sleep, but it passes the time, and Crowley usually doesn't mind it. He pulls his angel blade from under his pillow and makes his way down the hallway, stopping when he sees Gabriel.

He's let his essence slip, and he's standing in the living room, looking more demon than host - there are tears in the membranes of his wings and blood on his carpet, and there's a knife protruding from his shoulder, right next to his wing joint. One of his horns is cracked at the end, and there's a long gouge in his cheek that's leaking black ooze. He looks like Hell. More so than usual.

"Gabriel?"

He whirls around to look at him, dark eyes widened; though, when he realizes who it is behind him, he visibly relaxes, wings drooping a bit. 

"What in the world happened to you?" He steps closer, and his wings shift restlessly in concern. He wants to wrap them around Gabriel and keep him safe but being enclosed seems like the last thing he wants. So he keeps his distance; "You're a mess."

"Demons," Gabriel does his best to look less injured than he is; his wings fold up awkwardly, and he stands a little straighter. His true face fades a bit more, so Crowley is left looking at a weird hybrid, the more smooth features of his true form but the bright amber of his eyes; "I gave the Winchesters the Colt. So now the only person Michael wants dead more than his brother is me."

"The _Colt_?" Crowley repeats, "Like the gun that kills nearly everything in creation? That Colt?"

"No, the My Little Pony character," Gabriel snaps, "Of course that Colt!"

"Why would you do that?"

"Because pissing Michael off seemed fun," he rolls his eyes, "Because I thought those two meatbags could kill Mikey with it! Obviously, not such a good idea."

"He's an archangel. Why would you-"

Gabriel's glare is more than enough to shut Crowley up. He eyes him briefly then sighs, taking his arm to lead him to the couch. He forces him to sit, running a hand over the arch of his wing, down to the tip. His skin is cool and smooth, like a snake, and Gabriel looks sharply at him, something unreadable shifting in his features. Crowley doesn't try to decipher what it is.

"We need to get you cleaned up," he says, kneeling in front of him. His wings tuck in closer to his body, and he reaches out to touch the gash on his cheek; "Let me see."

Gabriel stares hard at him.

"You're masking your injuries too, you doughnut. I can't just zap you well. My grace will do more damage than good. So let me see and do this the old fashioned way."

Gabriel doesn't move.

"You're not suddenly angel shy, are you?"

That seems to stir something in him and Gabriel mutters about fucking bossy angels under his breath before he lets go. His eyes melt back to black, and the faintly visible human face vanishes altogether, and Crowley is left looking at him, exposed and open. The damage is a lot worse than he originally anticipated, and Gabriel's wings shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"Well, you'll live."

"Thanks a bunch Crowley's dad."

Crowley glares. Gabriel just shrugs, then winces when it drives the blade in his shoulder deeper. Crowley rolls his eyes at it and then stands, padding into the kitchen to grab some paper towels and a bowl of water. When he comes back in, Gabriel has the knife in his hand and is seemingly unconcerned by the amount of blood that's coming from the wound.

"I liked that sofa you know."

Gabriel looks back at the now stained and bloody couch and makes a face at the offending mark, like if he glares enough, it would disappear. It doesn't.

"Yeah, well. You'll get used to it."

They fall into silence as Crowley begins to dab at the blood on him - it's slow going and by the time he's done, the bowl of water beside him is a dark red. Gabriel's wings are still tattered though, and he doesn't think they'll ever heal properly.

"Has the God Squad heard the news?" Gabriel asks as he stands up, crossing the room to look out the window at the sky. It's rapidly getting lighter as dawn approaches. Crowley just raises his eyebrow and stands, going into the kitchen to dump the water down the sink; "Apparently, they missed a Knight of Hell."

Crowley drops the bowl in his hands. It clatters in the sink and he looks up. Gabriel's back on the couch and watching him.

"Missed one?"

Hell's strongest demons, only second to Michael and Metatron - they're vicious warriors and exceedingly difficult to kill. Though, any angel worth his wings knew they had been wiped out and slaughtered by the Archangels. One surviving seemed highly unlikely, and Crowley shakes his head, picking the bowl back up.

"No way. Not unless Michael's raised one. A lot of his top demons are dead thanks to the Winchesters. They took out Zachariah when the door to hell opened in Wyoming. Metatron is gone. Naomi too. Castiel is...parts unknown last I heard. You're out to kill him. Doesn't leave him with much."

"He's the devil," Gabriel deadpans, flexing his wing over one shoulder. He inspects it briefly before shaking it out, letting it curl against his back, "I sincerely doubt he needs back up."

"At least Lucifer has his Archangels. Abaddon and-"

"Yeah, that one that's kinda off doing his own thing," Gabriel rolls his eyes, leaning back in the couch, "Dude, it's the devil. I don't think some Archangels scare him. He's an Archangel too. Remember?"

That's a very valid point.

"The Knights aren't that big of a deal anyway," Crowley comes back into the living room and sits himself down next to him, "Archangels killed them before. If Michael brought one back, it's just one. Nothing Abaddon can't handle on her own. She won't even have to tell Lucifer."

"What if this one wasn't brought back?"

Crowley looks over at him. Something flickers across his expression, and Crowley sits up a bit straighter as it dawns on him. His big secret from before-

"You know, don't you? There is a Knight that survived."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," Crowley turns to look at him, "Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

Gabriel makes a face, and his wings press down closer against his back, "You think I'd tell a feather-head like you?"

Crowley looks hard at him. He knows that he knows - he can see it in his expression. The veil of black over his eyes may make it impossible to read him but his host's eyes are honest and open and he knows. Gabriel blinks and shades them black, and Crowley scowls a bit.

"Why are you even here, Gabriel?"

"...I need a place to lie low. At least until the devil's back in his box."

"You're joking. The King of the Crossroads is looking for a hiding spot?"

"Maybe."

"What makes you think you can stay here?" Crowley asks, "I don't want a demon hanging around here. You'll make a mess. You'll wreck my furniture. More than you already have."

"I'm a demon, you ass. Not a puppy."

"I'd prefer a puppy. At least they're cute and cuddly."

Gabriel's wings shift, "Excuse you. I am extremely cute, and I can do cuddly."

"You? Cuddly? Right. And I'm Ghan-"

Gabriel's wings flare suddenly, and he shifts, flopping himself face down across Crowley's lap. His one wing drapes over his head and presses him so he bends forward over him, and Crowley makes an indignant noise as Gabriel starts to howl with laughter.

"Get off! You're-I can't even breathe you asshole!"

Crowley flails, a little, but eventually manages to shove him off. Gabriel lands on his back in a heap on the floor. He grins up at him, eyes shaded black, and that's when realization starts to uncurl in his gut, cold and heavy.

"It's you."

"...What?"

"You. You're the Knight."

Gabriel sits up on his elbows, "What? How do you figure?"

"Your eyes," Crowley says, standing slowly. His angel blade slides into his palm, metal cool against his skin, "They're black. Crossroads are red."

"So? I'm the King."

"Doesn't matter. Even playing pretend can't change everything," Crowley steps back a bit more, "That's how you know."

Gabriel looks at him for a moment before he smiles, his host's face melting back a bit as the demonic parts of him become more apparent. His lips curl into a wider smile, and he tips his head.

"Guilty."

He's speaking Enochian again, his voice that same guttural growl, and Crowley's grace pulses as his hand curls tighter around his sword, wings stretching out from his back. He expects Gabriel to strike first, expects him to spring at him, but he doesn't. He just watches him, and it raises the hairs on his neck.

Monsters like Gabriel don't wait.

"Well?"

"Why don't you be honest with me?" Gabriel growls in Enochian, "I know what you are."

Gabriel rises slowly to his feet. His wings shift and fold to his back as he steps closer, though he stops when Crowley lifts his blade at him, eyeing it before he lifts his gaze to him. His eyes are impossibly dark, black and empty, and his smile widens as he bares his teeth at him.

"Come now, Angel," Gabriel's tone is almost teasing, "You think I've never seen those wings of yours? I know what you are."

"Leave."

"Or what?"

"If you know what I am, then you know what I can do," Crowley warns, and his grace swells as more of his vessel’s face fades. He can see himself in the reflection of Gabriel's eyes, his true face masked by his hood. His wings, all six of them, have crossed over and are flared; "So leave."

"What changed? Mighty Archangel will slum with the King, but he's too good for a Knight?"

"It's by my mercy you're even still alive," Crowley hisses, and the lights flicker menacingly, "And sheer luck I didn't know your name. If Gabriel is even your name."

"It is," Gabriel laughs, "I just cut out the tongue of anyone who knew it. Couldn't have anyone ruining the party for me, now could I?"

Crowley can see it now, see that monster maiming his own brethren. Knights of Hell were notoriously vicious, unwilling to stop until they got what they wanted, almost like hellhounds. Just worse. Gabriel strikes him as that kind, focused on his mission. He thinks to the last time he saw him, the way he spoke-

"How long have you known who I am?"

"Since the beginning," He steps closer and curls a hand around the blade. It bites into his palm, and he hisses a little, bares his teeth; "I've always known. I remember you, your kind... but you Archangels... you didn't kill any of us, did you?"

Crowley's stomach lurches as he shoves the blade forward into Gabriel's hand a bit more. It slides between his clawed fingers - thick black blood oozes down his wrist and stains his carpet.

"It was Abel."

Crowley jerks backwards. His blade makes a sick sound as it slides free of Gabriel's grip. He laughs.

Crowley remembers that day, remembers seeing Abel with the first blade in his hand, Lucifer's mighty sword drenched in the blood of his comrades. He had slaughtered them all, and Lucifer had decided to tell the other angels they had done it, they had killed them, and the story had stuck. Only-

"You were there. You were dead. I saw you."

"It's not hard to fake a death, Angel," Gabriel shrugs, "Abel wanted blood. He got it."

"And you..."

"Survived. Nobody was looking for a crossroads demon. I was dead."

Crowley shakes his head. All this time, all of it, he'd been-

Crowley lets more of his grace free, feels it burn bright and white hot - Gabriel closes what distance remains between them, gripping the edges of his true face's hood. His hands burn and Crowley instinctively mashes down on his grace until it's gone and all that remains is his vessel's face instead of his true form. It doesn't slow Gabriel - he presses their mouths together, and his hands curl around his cheeks. Crowley can feel the burns on his palms, feel his blood, slick and hot and coppery. Gabriel's teeth graze his upper lip, and Crowley lets him, his wings folding flat to his back.

Gabriel's one hand shifts back, and he grabs onto the base of his wings, squeezing almost hard enough to hurt, before it moves to grip into the downy feathers at the top. Black and red ooze smears onto the white, and Crowley inhales sharply.

"I ought to kill you," he breathes when they part. Gabriel's face is his host's again, and he blinks the black away, "You..."

"I'm too adorable," he growls, kneading his fingers against the wrist of his wings, "Your own demon puppy..."

"Shut up."

"Gonna make me?"

Crowley just glares at him for a long few moments before he leans in and pushes their mouths back together roughly, and he doesn't hesitate to bite hard at his vessel's lower lip, almost enjoys the sharp tang of blood as he yanks him in closer. He can feel Gabriel grinning against his mouth as he kisses him back just as viciously.

 

* * *

 

Crowley wakes up with a face full of demon wing.

Gabriel is curled with his back to him on the mattress, afternoon sunshine leaking through the curtains and he makes a face before shoving the appendage off him. It's deceptively heavy, and the skin is cool and smooth, and he realizes a second too late that Gabriel is watching him over one shoulder.

"Bed hog," Crowley grumbles as he sits up off the mattress. The bed shifts, and then Gabriel is draping himself over his back, slotting into the space between his wings. His hands fist into the burgundy feathers and tug a little.

"You love it."

Crowley shrugs him off and shakes his wings out - Gabriel's grin is entirely teeth as he looks up at him.

They fall into a familiar pattern around the villa after a few days. Gabriel is constantly underfoot and getting into trouble. He drinks all his liquor and doesn't even apologize when Crowley glares at him from over the cabinet door. The apocalypse continues on around them, and more than once the wards are the only things that keep them safe.

The Winchesters are an interesting pair, Crowley decides, and far too damn stubborn for their own good. They're in a corner, backed in and trapped, with no way to stop Lucifer or Michael, short of giving their consent and becoming 'angel condoms' as Gabriel calls them.

"The keys to the cage are out there," Crowley says, watching as Gabriel twists strings around his clawed fingers into cat’s cradles, "No one knows that. Lilith told me that our Father made a key before he left."

"How did Lilith know?" Gabriel asks, and he sounds bored.

Crowley frowns, "She was the scribe of God."

"Oh. _That_ Lilith."

"Is there more than one?"

Gabriel looks up from his hands, "I don't know. I haven't learned all your names. I don't care frankly," he looks back to his fingers and resumes twining the threads, "So where's the key?"

"No," Crowley shakes his head, "You're being an ass. Never mind."

Gabriel sighs and shakes the strings from his hands. He crosses the room and slides his way into Crowley's lap, and he winds his arms around his neck. He draws the tip of his claw along the nape of his neck, and Crowley shivers.

"Did I hurt your feelings?"

"Shut up. You're actually not funny."

"I'm hysterical," Gabriel's lips twist into a grin, and he leans in to kiss him, "Do you want me to beg?"

Crowley's arms wind around his middle and tuck into the back pockets of his jeans, and Gabriel makes a pleased noise in his throat, pressing a kiss to the curve of his jaw line. He's in that weird half state between fully exposed and not - his facial features are mostly human, but his hands are clawed, and his wings are fully visible, and his horns are solid. Crowley figures keeping his true form just that side of the veil is difficult, and Gabriel is mostly comfortable around him now, after all these weeks.

The connotation of that sentence is not something he cares to explore.

"So the key?"

"Keys," Crowley corrects, "Well, rings. The Horsemen's."

Gabriel draws back to look at him. He stares at him blankly for a moment before he just huffs out a breath.

"Have you met the Horsemen?"

"Well, no-"

"Keep it that way."

"You're doing that thing again," Crowley scolds, squeezing his ass lightly, "You're saying something but not everything. I said not to do that."

Gabriel makes a face at him, "Since when are you the boss?"

"Since I'm the one keeping your ass off the wonder twins’ radar."

Gabriel rolls his eyes, and Crowley's wings shift restlessly against his spine, stretching then folding in and Gabriel's fingers knead at the notches of his vertebrae, between his shoulder blades, and he closes his eyes, leans forward to nose his face into Gabriel's neck. He smells faintly like smoke and sulphur, and Crowley's mostly gotten used to the way he leaves the scent of ash around the villa. He tried chasing him around the house with cans of Febreze for the first few days, but when it became apparent that his natural odour was much stronger than the fake smell of dragon fruit and clean linen, he gave up. Now he's almost fond of it, the ashy smoke smell that wafted through the kitchen when Gabriel woke up in the morning or the way his pillows always seemed to smell like sulphur.

“They're just difficult to deal with,” Gabriel tells him quietly, “And they're well watched, I'm sure. Michael wouldn't have it any other way.”  
It makes sense.

But it would make the Winchester's struggle against the forces of Heaven and Hell considerably easier, giving them the ability to spring the door on the box to shove the devil back in. Though, Lilith had told him that they were the only two to know that little tidbit of information. Even Michael and Lucifer didn't know it and-

Gabriel leans back to look at him, “...Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Don't be dumb,” Gabriel says as he slides off his lap. His wings stretch a bit, “You're thinking of doing something stupid. I can see it in your damn face. What are you-”

“We can help those two-”

“I already _did_ that, Crowley,” Gabriel hisses, “And those two meatbags fucked it all up. Now I'm a friggin' fugitive. I can't go back to Hell. You wanna be sealed out of Heaven for all eternity?”

“It won't be all eternity once those two are locked away.”

“And if they're _not_?”

“Why are you getting so antsy?” Crowley asks, folding his arms across his chest, “You can still stay here. You don't have to come with me to do this.”

“...You're an idiot,” Gabriel snaps, “You know that?”

“They need help,” Crowley insists, “They're going nowhere, and they're our best shot at ending this apocalypse nonsense.”

“ _You_ don't need to help them. They have an angel in their corner. They have Ruby.”

For all her power, Ruby is still not an Archangel and she is still unaware of the keys floating out there. And Crowley knows that Gabriel knows it. He's too stubborn, unwilling to listen. Self-sacrifice isn't exactly Gabriel's strongest suit, he knows, and he knows he can't hold it against him. He's a demon and really only concerned about things that served to better his situation.

“If they lock those two up, you can go home,” Crowley tells him, “You'd be the strongest demon in Hell. You could be a King, and not just a Knight or over the Roads. You could rule Hell.”

Gabriel levels a look at him and his wings fold back to his back.

“And if it doesn't work?”

“Well then we're both damned anyway.”

“You're going to become an Archangel shishkebab and you know it.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Gabriel seems to be relenting a bit – Crowley knows. After a moment, he huffs out a breath and shakes his head. Then he just turns and walks out of the room, and Crowley hears his bedroom door slam shut. He's won but only barely. The temptation of ruling Hell had been the thing that broke his resolve, he's sure, but then Gabriel is padding back into the room and handing him a slip of paper with some co-ordinates scribbled on it.

“Here.”

“...What is it?”

“This is where Pestilence is. The others are up to the boys to find, but I got this from a reliable source. Don't get your stupid ass killed, okay? You're the only decent feather-head I know.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

“It's the closest you're going to get so you should just take it.”

Crowley's lips quirk into a smile – then Gabriel is leaning over and kissing him, firm and hard, on his mouth, twining their fingers together – his claws scrape faintly through the veil against his palms and send a chill up Crowley's spine.

“You better come back.”

“You think I'd let my villa fall to your ruin?” Crowley says and Gabriel's nose wrinkles, “I'll come back.”

He leaves before he can let the meaning behind all of it settle too solidly in his mind, the smell of Gabriel's sulphur following faintly after him.

 

* * *

 

“So you're the fabled Winchester boys, hm?”

Sam immediately turns to look at him from the suitcase he's rummaging in as Dean comes in from the bathroom, gun drawn and hammer cocked. Ruby stands up from the bed quickly, brandishing her angel blade, though she pauses immediately when she realizes who it is. He's selective about what he lets through, just his wings and oh, Ruby, her grace is failing her now – her wings are faint and small, and her true face is fading. His stomach twists – he had yet to be cut off from Heaven though he's sure he will be if this fails.

“Easy,” He holds up both hands, “I'm a friend.”

Ruby frowns, “What do you want?”

“I have some information for you,” Crowley says, passing over the paper, “You'll need this.”

Ruby's eyes flick between him and the note before she passes it off to Sam. He looks down at it and frowns, then back up at him, “What is this?”

“Co-ordinates. For a Horseman.”

“Why're you giving us that?” Dean asks, leaning his weight against the doorframe.

Crowley sighs, “Look, you lot are fighting a damn uphill battle, and I know how to make that fight a bit easier. I know how to put the devil back in the box. The cage is still down there.”

Realization dawns on Sam Winchester's face first, “...How do you-”

“I just know,” Crowley doesn't care to reveal more than that and Dean makes a dismissive noise in his throat as he pushes off the wall to come back into the room. He grabs the paper out of Sam's hand and looks down at it, regards it like he might regard a piece of garbage.

“And we're just supposed to trust you? What are you anyway, a demon?”

“An angel,” Ruby corrects, “Though I was under the impression you were not involving yourself in these matters any more.”

“I'm not,” Crowley sighs, “But I like this planet the way it is, and those two are going to obliterate it. That doesn't work for me. So, here I am.”

“How did you even get this?” Sam asks, “Michael's not an idiot. Why would he let this information out if it’s the only thing that can take him down?”

Crowley shrugs, “I have my ways."

Dean's gun levels evenly at his temple, “Better start talking, you son of a bitch. Or we're going to have a problem. Only one angel we trust and she's right here.”

“Dean,” Sam's tone is a warning but his brother doesn't waver, “Ruby trusts him. That's-”

“Look, I don't care if you trust me,” Crowley says sharply, “But if you want to defeat the devil, then  _that_ is your best bet. The Horsemen's rings are the key to the cage, and that information is solid. Pestilence is there. The other three are up to you.”

“One,” Ruby says quietly, “War is defeated. As is Famine. Only Pestilence and Death remain.”

Death – Crowley can imagine how that one will go.

“Look, way I see it, you lot have two choices. Say yes and live out the remainder of eternity as angel condoms. Or shove those two into that cage and let them duke it out down there. It's your choice.”

“How do we even get the devil in to the box?” Sam asks, sitting himself down on the edge of one of the beds. Ruby sits down next to him, and her hand smooths over his knee gently, “Don't think he's going to just hop back in if we ask really nicely.”

“...I say yes,” Dean says suddenly, “To Michael. I say yes. Then I'll take over and jump on in.”

Sam's eyes snap to look at his brother and Ruby makes a point of looking elsewhere, down at Sam's knee and her hand, pressed firm. There's something familiar and intimate about it, and Crowley wonders on her, on her situation and her state and wonders how much of it is her own doing. He shakes his head.

“Dean, no.”

“What other option do we have?” Dean asks, “If this is the only way then we gotta consider it.”

“No.”

“Sammy-”

“We can find another way,” Sam insists, looking over at Crowley, “This will work, right?”

He nods. Dean still looks like he's not buying it, but Sam seems almost sold on the idea, and Crowley isn't sure that he doesn't blame him. Hope is a funny thing in that way, where some people found it and others didn't. This is really their only chance, and Crowley knows that they both know it. They had to realize how limited their options are at this point, had to be painfully aware of how close they walked to ruin. Surely Ruby knows it, he can see it in her eyes, in the defeated slump to her wings and the tired, ragged way her vessel contained her now nearly depleted grace. She's almost as human as the boys in the room with her.

“At any rate, there's your chance. Take it or leave it.”

Then he leaves them to it, and he can only hope that they'll be smart enough to follow his way.

The entire planet is counting on their victory.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel greets him when he comes back.

He winds his arms around his waist, and his wings curl protectively around him to keep him close and Crowley tries not to think on why that may be, even as Gabriel's teeth scrape along his vessel's pulse point.

“Don't be stupid again,” Gabriel growls into his throat in Enochian, “I don't like stupidity.”

Crowley pushes the possessive tone to Gabriel's voice out of his mind and focuses instead on the heavy tang of copper and sulphur in the air on the villa's balcony, the pinprick pain of Gabriel's claws as they press to the softer parts of his vessel's waist, the warmth of Gabriel's wings as they curl around them a bit more, and he decides then that this would be okay for now. As long as this lasted, he might be able to be content.

 

* * *

 

Nothing in this world ever lasts nearly as long as it should.

Nothing is really eternal, except maybe death, the end, Purgatory – Crowley feels the wards bend before Gabriel does, but when he looks, he's gone and alone in the villa. The door downstairs bangs open, and he reaches the top of the stairs when Michael appears, coated in blood, his temporary vessel burning away. He's a young man but his face is ruined with open sores and wounds, and Crowley has no doubt that he's dead in there, lost to the white hot burn of Michael's grace.

“So good to see you, brother.”

“Why are you here?”

“I've heard a lot of things,” Michael climbs the stairs slowly, each step deliberate, “Things I must confirm for myself before any further action can be taken. Besides that, we're family, Crowley. Brothers. Did you not miss me when I was locked in to my cage?”

“Michael--”

When he breaches the stairs, Crowley gets his first good look at him. His wings are still magnificent and beautiful but the cage has scarred them, left angry black smears of smoke and fire across the once pristine white feathers. His grace swells angrily, and Crowley swallows and steadies himself. Let it come, he thinks, let Michael destroy him. Gabriel is gone now.

“I hear you are the one who has given the Winchesters the keys to my cage,” Michael's tone is sharp and cold, “And that you keep one of my Knights as a pet. Is that true, Crowley?”

“What of it?”

“Does it not disturb you?” Michael steps closer. The hardwood flooring beneath his feet warps and singes under the weight of his grace; “What they are? The flaws? You would stand with demons over your own family?"

"I don't stand with demons, Michael. I'm standing with people. Your war with Lucifer will rip this world apart. It will destroy it."

"But it can be made anew, as our Father wished it. He wanted this, Crowley. He wanted this war."

"He wanted us to love humankind more than we loved Him, and-"

"I do, of course I do. I want this world cleansed of the corrupted creatures that now inhabit it. I want what Father did. Purity. The strong ones will live through this battle with Heavenly intervention. Surely your vessel will live on even as we ascend to the heavens. The corrupt will burn as Father intended. I'm a good son, Crowley. I'm doing Father's work."

Something cold and heavy uncurls in the pit of Crowley's stomach. Michael's grace is suffocating, filing the room and choking him, and the ashy smell of fire and sulphur is thick and acrid. It's different from Gabriel's, and Crowley longs for the warmth of his wings around him, shielding him from the monster the pit had warped his brother in to. Outside, the waves slam against the shore, and lightning streaks through the grey - Michael's doing, he's sure, and he steels himself with a slow breath. 

"You're not doing Fathers work," Crowley says firmly, "You're doing your work in his name. He wouldn't want this. He would have never wanted this. He wept when you took Metatron. When you took Raphael. Gabriel. _Abel_. This was never the plan, Michael. Never."

"But it has come to this now, hasn't it?"

Michael moves deceptively fast, curls a hand around his neck - his grace burns like molten fire, white hot, and Crowley makes a choked noise as he's lifted from his feet.

"I'm sorry, Brother, but you are tainted. I will abolish all evil, in our Father's name. Your death will be-"

Crowley curls his wing to smack it hard into the side of Michael's head. He lets go, blessedly, and stumbles sideways.

"Don't you bloody well dare say anything about the damn greater good," Crowley snarls, rubbing at the burn marks curling around his throat as his blade slides into his other hand, "You son of a bitch."

Michael's grace swells threateningly, heavy and unbearable, and Crowley cringes, tightening his grip on his blade. He blinks once, and then Michael is gone from before him - in fact, the whole villa is gone, just a distant speck in the horizon and the air smells heavy with salt and ash. Gabriel is there, wings unfurled and wet with sea spray.

"You idiot," Crowley snaps, though he feels an unfamiliar twist of relief in his gut, "If that hadn't worked-"

"It did," Gabriel offers as an argument, "You gotta go the rest of the way. He's going to find us pretty damn quick and just zapping you out of that house wore me out. Come on."

The last view Crowley gets of his villa is as it catches fire, right before he and Gabriel fly off through the veil.

 

* * *

 

"Dude. Go shower. Your vessel reeks of that dickbag's grace."

Those are the first words out of Gabriel's mouth upon their arrival at the no name motel somewhere between North Dakota and Montana. Crowley makes a face at him then pulls down the blinds to peek outside. The skies are dark, and they're just off a highway - a semi truck rolls past, headlights cutting through the night, and Crowley sighs.

"Don't you think warding this place takes priority?"

Gabriel gives him a look, "I'll do it. You shower. Seriously, it's awful."

"We both nearly get fried, and you're worried about how I smell? When did you become such a-"

"Would you seriously just fucking do it? It's not right. Your grace isn't-"

Gabriel seems to catch himself. His nose wrinkles and his wings flutter angrily, as if reprimanding him for whatever he almost let out. Crowley raises an eyebrow. Gabriel huffs out a breath and then turns away, stalking out of the room. A second later, there's the tingle of magic in the air and then Crowley breathes out a sigh of relief. Gabriel is nothing but thorough, cloaking the whole motel and it's patrons inside, and Crowley knows he didn't have to go to that extreme, but the idea that he would makes him smile.

Gabriel is right - the remainders of Michael's grace hang on to him like a second skin, and he strips down, padding into the bathroom. He stretches his wings, pulling one over his shoulder to inspect. Some of the feathers are singed from where they connected with Michael's head. He touches them gently, runs his fingers the dark patches on burgundy and frowns. His fingers come away with black soot smeared on them.

Crowley learns quickly that Gabriel is not very good at sitting still and staying hidden. The villa had been big enough that he could disappear into the various rooms and occupy himself.

But within the confined spaces of the hotel room, he's antsy within a few hours on their first full day, as soon as the TV fails him. Then he's up and pacing. When that doesn't satisfy him, he starts ripping the room apart, rooting through drawers and the closet. Eventually he seems to find what he's looking for, and he settles in on the bed. The silence gets unsettling after the third hour, and when Crowley finally gives in and peers over one shoulder, he's surprised to see him scanning a Holy Bible. 

"What are you reading?" Crowley sighs when Gabriel gives him a look, "Right. Stupid question.  _Why_   are you reading a Bible?"

"Why not? Do you see anything better to do?" He asks dryly, turning back to the book, "I'm tired of soap operas, and we're not exactly swimming in reading material here."

Crowley just looks at him, and then he rolls his eyes. They fall back into silence, though he tries to ward it off by switching on the TV.   It doesn't help. He's surprised when Gabriel reads through the entire thing, start to finish, shutting it with a sigh after another three hours. It's dark out now, and the moon hangs low over the highway, Crowley has taken to channel surfing, despite only having twenty four channels, scanning quietly for any signs of the mighty battle that's inevitably waiting to happen.

"Do you miss Heaven?"

Gabriel is looking up at him, stretched on his stomach, wings folded flat to his back. He has his hand on one of Crowley's wings, fingers kneading idly at the feathers, the Bible closed on the pillow in front of him.

"Do I miss it?"

He nods.

"I...haven't actually thought about it," Crowley admits, "I left so long ago now. I suppose I must."

"Is it like in the Bible?"

"No," Crowley shakes his head, "it may have been. Once. But not anymore."

Heaven's hierarchy had shifted once their Father had vanished, once Michael had been imprisoned in the cage. Lucifer had been left to lead and he had been young - favoritism had become the norm there. Gabriel looks at him thoughtfully for a moment before he touches a hand to the cover of the Bible.

"That's kinda shitty, actually."

"Why do you even care?" Crowley asks, "what difference does it make to you? You're not going to get there."

Oh.

That was probably too harsh. It came out a lot sharper than he intended, even if he's not wrong. Gabriel wouldn't ever be admitted into Heaven, not unless something changed and fast. He is doomed to The Pit, and Crowley glances sideways at him. His fingers have stilled against his feathers and he's got a look on his face that isn't hurt, not exactly, but definitely not happy. 

"Who said I wanted to go to Heaven?"

"Who doesn't want to? It's Heaven."

"You think I wanna be up there with you assholes? Fat chance. At least us demons don't pretend to be all high and mighty. I'm fine with where I stand, Crowley."

"Then why-"

"For you, you prick," Gabriel says airily, tugging on one of his feathers hard enough that it slides free. It's slightly painful and Crowley makes a face, wrinkles his nose and shifts his wing just out of his reach; "It's shitty that your home sucks now. That's all I'm saying. Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass, you'd get it."

"...Since when do demons do sympathy?"

"Who said its sympathy?" Gabriel sniffs, "That's not what this is."

Crowley just looks at him and scowls a little. Gabriel has taken to thumbing through the Bible again, head propped up in the hand that used to be tangled in his wing - his feather is tucked behind his vessel's ear now, bright red against the tawny brown of his hair, and when he looks at him from the corner of his eye, his eyes are bright gold and amused.

"Keep frowning like that, and your face will get stuck like that," he hums, looking to the Bible, "You know, I remember Sodom a lot differently than this book does. It was a pretty okay place."

"...You are totally impossible," Crowley says as he slides off the bed, "Do you know that?"

Gabriel shrugs, shoving the Bible up enough that he can flop face down into the mattress. Crowley watches him for a second before he shakes his head, padding across the room toward the bathroom.

"I want lo mein!" Gabriel calls after him and Crowley can only sigh in exasperation.

 

* * *

 

They stay in their hotel for another two days before Crowley moves them to a new hotel in Santa Barbara. It's in the outskirts of town, and it's quiet - Gabriel sets up the wards again, and they settle in to living around one another.

Mostly it's exhausting.

Gabriel takes to picking his feathers out when he feels like he needs attention; there's a whole pile of them on top of the nightstand on his side of the bed. He also likes to rent porn on pay-per-view and blast it at four AM. Neither of them really sleep, there's no need for it, but on the third night of being startled out of his thoughts by unbearably loud moans, Crowley gets fed up and breaks the TV.

After that, Gabriel mostly pouts. He also ups the physically annoying part and takes to draping himself over him whenever he can - sometimes it's gentle, but mostly it's him flopping across him and demanding they talk.

They exhaust the boring, mindless topics within two days, and neither of them are willing to broach into the more serious conversations.

It's been two weeks since they've settled in Santa Barbara, and Gabriel is pawing at his wings, smoothing his fingers through the feathers. Crowley hates how good it feels. It's made him moan a few times. But one minute Gabriel is there and the next, he's not.

For a second, Crowley panics. And when Gabriel doesn't immediately reappear, he goes looking for him. He eventually finds him in Sioux Falls, South Dakota - he's in a devil’s trap in the living room of a house that is just a hair short of decaying. The Winchesters are both there along with Ruby, who looks even worse than the last time he saw her. There's also an older man in ratty baseball cap sitting in a wheelchair by a desk.

"We need Death," Dean Winchester says, "You got any idea where he is?"

"Yeah, no," Gabriel says, and he sounds almost petulant, "Not going to happen."

"After what you did with the Colt, you owe us," Sam hisses, voice pure venom, "You screwed us. Now you have to-"

"Back up two seconds, please," Gabriel says, voice sharp, "I did not _screw_ you. And I certainly don't owe you meat monkeys anything. Because of you two fucking up, I'm the most royally fucked son of a bitch out there. The only person the devil wants dead more than his brother is me. Thanks to you two."

"Holy crap, we don't care," Dean grumbles, rolling his eyes.

"How about this then? You want Death so bad, you make a deal for it. One of your souls for the info. That's the only way you're going to get it."

"Or we could exorcise you," Sam suggests and Crowley bristles angrily, "I'm sure all of Michael's people will be more than happy to see you down there."

Crowley thinks Gabriel may pale a little.

"You wouldn't."

"You really want to find out?"

"Fine. Okay, wow. You two definitely know how to charm a girl. Look, I can't give you that information because I don't have it," Gabriel says after a moment, and Crowley isn't sure if he believes him or not, "I'm not exactly tapped into Hell right now. I've been... Look, I want to help you two. I want that bastard Michael out of the picture more than you do. But I can't tell you something I don't know. Make a deal, and I can. That's it."

Sam and Dean exchange looks with each other then look to the older man. Ruby tenses a little and then shakes her head.

"Sam...don't. Don't do this."

"The Walking Featherduster is right," the older man says, "This is getting out of hand. We can find Death ourselves. Demon deals got us in to this mess."

Gabriel sighs impatiently, "Look, boys, I don't have all day. Either let's do this thing or let me out of this trap."

"Shut up," Dean snaps, "Sammy. We gotta do this."

Ruby looks between them imploringly and Crowley can see the concern in her eyes. She's much too close to the boys, Sam in particular. She gravitates to him more than Dean. 

"How about this," Gabriel says after a moment, "It'll be no strings attached. You just make the agreement, say the word, we'll do this legit, and I'll give you your soul back once you've got Death on a leash. Like I said, I want Michael home. My life is kind of counting on you two doing this properly. So if that's what it takes to get what I want, then fine. I'll make an exception."

Dean looks like he's seriously considering it. So does Sam. Ruby just looks like she wants to smite Gabriel back to where he came from, which might not be so far from the truth. Even the older man looks uncomfortable with the suggestion.

"Sam," Ruby sounds almost like she's pleading, "Sam, no. He's lying. He won't-"

"Hey, I don't need to lie to get what I want, sweetheart. I get it by telling the truth."

Ruby bristles and the remaining traces of her grace swells angrily, "I wasn't talking to you, you disgusting piece of-"

"Whoa," Sam curls an arm around her shoulders and steers her toward the door, "Calm down. It's okay. Just...take it easy. I know it's not ideal. But we have to take what we can get, and we need Death."

"Sam, please..."

"I know you're worried," he says, and Crowley watches as he leans in to kiss her forehead, "but we don't have a choice, Ruby."

That seems to soothe her to some degree. She lets him smooth her hair back, giving him a little smile before she pauses, her eyes flicking toward the window where he's standing. Crowley knows he's been caught watching - her eyebrows raise toward her forehead, and she looks toward Sam again. He's looking at her with worry in his eyes. 

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head, "Will you and Dean be all right until I come back though?"

"Yeah, but where are you-"

She flies off before Sam can finish, and he frowns - it wrinkles his brow and after a second, he gives up on the idea of her coming back and instead wanders back into the main room, where Gabriel is still standing, trapped.

Ruby reappears next to him, arms folded across her chest. She looks visibly unimpressed with him; it shows in her eyes, that stoic, bitingly serious angel she used to be lost to the human she was rapidly becoming.

"What are you doing here?" Ruby demands, "There's no reason for you to be here."

Crowley doesn't have an explanation as to why he's lurking around. He frowns at her, and Ruby looks at him expectantly.

"I'm just...checking in," he says finally, despite Ruby's disbelieving snort, "Didn't expect you lot to have the King of the Crossroads in a devil’s trap."

Ruby folds her arms across her chest, "They think they can get the location of the last Horseman from him. I don't think they will."

"Why not?"

"Why are you here brother?" Ruby tries again, and Crowley wishes she would just drop it, "They are doing as you want. Why come check in here? Unless it's the demon you're after."

Crowley shakes his head, "I just came to make sure you were still okay. The fate of the world is kind of sitting on their shoulders."

"I'm watching them," Ruby says, "You don't need to check up on them. It's not like I'm returning home to Heaven. These boys are my responsibility."

"Right. Of course, foolish of me to not think of that. I'll just... go."

Ruby doesn't look overly convinced, "You are here because of the demon."

Crowley pauses, "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's obvious," Ruby says. She sounds certain of herself. Crowley isn't sure why he finds her answer so obnoxious. She just looks at him, like she's expecting him to say something.

Instead he sighs.

"I told you. I'm checking up on Moose and Squirrel. The King of the Crossroads and what you do with him isn't any of my concern."

Ruby tips her head. Crowley waves her off, preparing himself for the flight.

"Never mind."

But if he cracks the floor and breaks some of the red spray paint lines on his way out when she isn't looking, well, no one had to know about that part, did they?

 

* * *

 

Angel radio buzzes with the news of Bobby Singer's deal with Gabriel for Death's location. It starts early in the morning, when he's brushing his teeth, and he bursts back into the main room just as Gabriel comes in, smoothing his jacket down, looking only mildly pleased with himself.

"What did you do?"

"What?"

"You went after... after Singer?"

Gabriel frowns, "Who?"

"Bobby!" Crowley shouts, "Bobby Singer! Sam and Dean's..."

"Oh. Him. No," Gabriel shakes his head, plunking down into a nearby chair. He props his feet up on the table and grabs the remote, flicking the TV on; "He came to me."

"Gabriel!"

"What?" He turns his head to look at him, "I'm just doing my job. _Hello_. Crossroad demon."

"Do you have a bloody death wish?"

"No, why? Are you worried about me?"

That makes Crowley pause. Is he worried? He wants to say yes because this is dumb, even by Gabriel's less than high standards. But he doesn't want to be. He makes a face.

"No," he lies, "I'm worried about Bobby."

That makes Gabriel frown. He makes a dismissive noise and turns back to the TV.

"Go worry about Bobby somewhere else then. I'm missing Springer."

Crowley resists the urge to roll his eyes at him, instead reaching out to shove Gabriel's feet off the table. He jerks forward in his seat a bit, startled by suddenly being moved, and turns away from the TV to glare back at him

"Are you at least going to keep your word and give the poor man his soul back when you've got the information?"

Crowley realizes he's said the wrong thing just a second too late - Gabriel's got a confused look on his face, though it fades when realization dawns on him.

"You let me out of that devil’s trap."

"I most certainly did not."

"You did!" Gabriel cries, "I knew I felt your grace! You were there! You were _spying_ on me!"

"I wasn't spying on you!"

"It's spying if you don't tell anyone you're there," Gabriel says, "And here I thought that Ruby chick had the hots for me. Instead it was just you being super creep and springing me from a trap. That's sweet."

"I wasn't... super creep?"

"Fine, super spy. Happy?"

"No! Because I wasn't spying on you. I just happened to... You vanished! I followed you. I saw you in that stupid trap, and Ruby saw me so it's not like I... You make it sound so weird. Stop that."

Gabriel grins and puts his feet back on the table, "Hey, man, whatever you say."

Crowley smacks him upside the back of his head with a wing. Gabriel just starts to laugh, seemingly endlessly amused by his discomfort.

 

* * *

 

The first time Crowley feels Gabriel slip past the wards, he doesn't do a damn thing. They had been stuck in their motel for almost a month, living like salamanders hiding under a rock. Gabriel still hasn't adjusted to life on the run - he still does his damnedest to be a pain in the ass, and he has a very high success rate.

So when he walks out past the wards after claiming they needed ice, Crowley doesn't even blink. He wants him out, at least for a little bit. Cabin fever has started to set in, for both of them really. A hotel room and it's surrounding lot isn't nearly enough space for two supernatural beings.

Gabriel isn't gone for more than an hour.

As far as Crowley can tell, Michael has no interest in him any longer. He's too focused on Dean and getting him to say yes. Heaven has seemed to more or less written him off well - Ruby obviously didn't quite grasp his significance in the scheme of things.

Regardless, Gabriel comes back.

He offers no explanation as to where he's been but Crowley can sense the fading tendrils of Ruby's grace on him so he assumes with the Winchesters.

The second time he does it, he's gone considerably longer - nearly six hours and when he does walk back in, he's slightly disheveled. He just sits down, pulls his wings over to inspect, huffs at them and then grabs the TV remote. He has developed a morbid fascination with Jerry Springer. Crowley considers asking him about it, but he decides against it and lets it go. He easily could have gone to see Sam and Dean again. He did hold Singer's soul - it wouldn't surprise Crowley in the least to hear he'd gone to them.

The third time, he leaves in the middle of the night and doesn't come back until late into the next night.

"Where have you been?"

Gabriel looks at him for a second before he just shakes his head and goes into the bathroom. The lock on the door clicks shut and Crowley wonders on it until nearly dawn, when he finally comes out. He smells like antiseptic, harsh and like chemicals and something else Crowley can't name.

"...What happened?"

"They have Death," Gabriel says offhandedly, sitting down on the bed, "Now. They caught him in Detroit."

"...And you-"

"I helped. A little."

"And Bobby?"

Gabriel leans forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He scrubs a hand over his face as little pieces of the real him seep through - his horns materialize above his head, and his eyes shade black, and Crowley watches, wordless, as he relaxes, breaks down the barriers around himself so there's nothing left. 

"I gave him his soul back," Gabriel says finally, and the words sound strange in his actual voice, low and deep like a snarl, "And his legs."

"You gave him his legs too?"

"Yes."

Crowley doesn't know why that makes his stomach twist like it does. He smiles, though.

"The boys?"

"On their way to find Michael. So Dean can say yes and become his vessel with the hopes he won't lose on their big showdown. But a fiddle of gold against Dean's soul says Mikey is better than him."

"...Don't say that."

"Why not?" Gabriel asks bluntly, "We have reached the point where failure is an option. Failure is the likelihood."

"Don't."

"Has heaven's grumpiest Archangel become an optimist?"

"Is that where you've been going?" Crowley asks, stepping closer to sit next to him. Almost instinctively, he reaches out to smooth his hand along the length of his wing, feeling the cool, smooth skin underneath, "To see them?"

"You noticed?"

"Don't be dumb. Of course I noticed," Crowley scolds, curling his own wing around him in what is supposed to be a show of comfort, "You weren't pulling out all my feathers. How could I miss that?"

Gabriel's lips quirk into a smile that bares his teeth, "I like your feathers."

"Well, if your collection is anything to go--oof."

Gabriel has shifted and crawled to settle into his lap, wings stretched up to box them in - they press against his, and it's strangely intimate, having him so close, being able to smell the sulphur and ash. This isn't the first time, not by a long shot, but it's still somehow different. Crowley meets his eyes, the dark empty voids in his vessels human face and swallows.

"What are you-"

Gabriel fists his hands into the feathers of his wings.

"This could be it," Gabriel growls, "I don't want to die regretting this."

"Regretting what?"

"Is this okay?" He asks, nosing against his neck - the arch of his horns press cold and solid to his cheek. Crowley smiles and tips his head to expose more of his throat to him.

"A demon asking for consent? That's new..."

"Answer the question, Crowley."

"..It's fine," he says finally, setting his hands on his shoulders, "Just like all the other times. It's always been fine."

"Are you sure?"

Crowley leans back a bit and his feathers slip free of Gabriel's grasp, "What has gotten into you?"

Gabriel just shrugs his shoulders, "I told you. I don't want to go to purgatory with regrets."

"Why would you..."

"If Dean loses this fight," Gabriel crowds his way back into his space and kisses at his neck, scrapes his teeth along his pulse, sucks a purple mark onto the skin of his vessel's throat, "then we'll both be über boned."

That's a terrible and morbid thought, and Crowley pushes it aside to focus instead on the feel of Gabriel above him, the smooth, polished feel of his horns, the press of his wings against his, his warmth over him, and the heavy smell of sulphur hanging in the air. It's strangely intoxicating, almost dizzying, and Gabriel knows it, he can tell, feel his lips curl into a smile as he takes an earlobe between his teeth and pulls gently. It makes him moan, quietly, and Gabriel's fingers tug a little harder at his wings. Then he's petting at the feathers, rubbing thumb and forefinger over them, like he's testing the softness, how smooth they are and Crowley swallows and pulls back to meet his eyes again. He's almost entirely demon now, eyes black, and he looks at him and purses his lips. His claws catch the light from the bedside lamp, and the horns arching toward the ceiling gleam.

How did he miss what he was for all this time?

"What?"

"Nothing," Crowley says, shaking his head, "I just... I forget what you look like sometimes."

He reaches out a hand to cup his cheek - he slides his palm up to curl his fingers around one of the horns on his head, feeling the weight in his palm. Gabriel blinks at him.

"Do you like the host better?"

Crowley pauses. Truthfully, the host is more familiar - he knows the man Gabriel possesses like one would know a map, all the intricate details and marks. Gabriel's true face is familiar in the sense that he knows it's there but it's still strange to see in it's entirety, fully exposed and open. But the human features of his vessel have been hidden away, and all that's left is the demon.

"No," Crowley admits finally, "I like this."

Crowley knows he's said the right thing based on Gabriel's grin - it exposes all his teeth and Crowley can't help but smile back.

"It's a shame," Gabriel says, "Seeing your true face would be nice."

But they both know the grace would burn away at Gabriel until there was nothing left so all he can risk is his wings. Though he does bring the remaining four forward and Gabriel makes a pleased noise and immediately reaches his hands out to grab at the newly exposed feathers. 

"This will do too."

Crowley snorts, "I thought it might."

Uncertainty is not something he's used to seeing with Gabriel. In all their previous encounters, the demon had been shit-sure of himself and cocky. But seeing him like this, bared open and unsure of it, makes something warm twist in Crowley's gut. It almost feels like he wants to please him, wants to make him happy which is a foreign concept with a demon, especially one like Gabriel, who seems to embrace what he is without a second thought. He's comfortable with the idea of eternal damnation and Crowley wonders briefly on the man he used to be, the man who voluntarily became one of Michael's strongest, most trusted warriors. He had been this way for centuries, and Crowley supposes it's entirely possible he doesn't even remember who he used to be.

Crowley likes to think he was a warrior even then, the kind that struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, the kind with honour and loyalty to his king. Or maybe he was the king, commanding armies and defending his kingdom to the very end.

Though, in truth, Gabriel was probably neither of those things. He was probably just a man, who at the end of his rope, accepted a deal with the devil. And that makes him sad, the thought that the man he used to be was so desperate that he signed on with evil to reach his end. Or that, maybe, he was never honourable or loyal or any of the things Crowley imagines him to be. It's entirely possible that he was never a good person, that he always possessed that wicked, dark heart, and that's why Abel came to him, that's why Abel corrupted him and turned him into the monster he is now.

Maybe one day he'll ask him. Maybe one day they'll reach that point where who Gabriel used to be, centuries ago, meant something to them, but at this moment it doesn't. It's just something he can acknowledge, that yes, at some point in history, Gabriel wasn't who he is now. He was a man - he bled like a man and desired like a man, had dreams and goals and could be killed, just like any human.

Gabriel is still kneading at his wings, though his hands have moved to curl around the joints and Crowley distantly thinks that it feels good. Nobody has touched him quite like Gabriel does, not ever, and his fingers send little jolts of pleasure down the base of his spine to settle heavy in his vessel's gut. It's a strange sensation, to be aroused, to have that heat burning under a second skin. But he does, he hungers for it, he wants this, just like all the times before, and he can see that Gabriel knows it. His lips are twisted into a smile and his wings press a little more solidly to his, curls around them to box him in and Crowley responds to his touch by tipping his head just enough to kiss him, to press his mouth to his, and Gabriel responds in kind, kissing him back in a way that is nearly desperate - Crowley feels him rock his hips against his, and the friction is nearly enough but not quite. Gabriel makes this noise in his throat that sends heat straight to his gut, and he grabs at his hips and rolls their hips together again, makes Gabriel whine and tug harder at his wings. It's borderline painful, and Crowley swallows before he stands, taking Gabriel with him. He deposits him back on the mattress and slots himself over him - Gabriel's dark eyes blink up at him, lips curled into a smile, wings spread open and out across the bed, one flopped over onto his back where it runs out of room against the headboard.

There's something about this that feels different, more intimate and personal, and when he kisses him, Gabriel is less fierce anger and more gentle, almost demure, even as he parts his lips for his tongue and bites him. Crowley isn't sure if he's fond of him being this pliant, but he lets him, rolls his hips against his and likes the way Gabriel's muscles tense and tremble beneath him.  There's something deceptively human about him right now, and if it wasn't for the fact that he can see with his own eyes what he is, he might believe he's just a man. But he's so much more than that, and Crowley lets himself revel in the feel of him, the solid steady warmth of his presence beneath him, the ashy smell of him, the quiet noises he makes each time Crowley rocks against him. This is no different than any other time they'd been together, not on the surface, but something else hangs unmentioned in the air between them, something Crowley thinks might need to be addressed. But he knows the demon beneath him, as well as he can know him, and Gabriel will never talk about this, not directly, not out loud. It's just not who he is, and Crowley kisses him a little harder. Gabriel responds in kind, kissing back with more ferocity and ah, there he is, there's the part of him that he secretly kind of likes.

Gabriel isn't like any demon or angel he's met, and maybe that's why he's drawn to him, because of that almost human way about him, because while yes, he does bad things, they're never expressly evil. Because Crowley wants to believe there may still be something worth saving in him, even if there very well could have never been.

"Be here," Gabriel snarls, releasing his wings to fist his hands into Crowley's shirt, dragging him closer so their chests press flat. He can feel the heat of Gabriel's body through the thin cotton, and he swallows; "Be here. With me. Now."

"I am."

Crowley knows that's not entirely true, so he makes his mind go blank, lets Gabriel work the buttons of his shirt open and push it off his shoulders. Then he's kissing at the newly exposed slope of his collarbones, the sensation prickling warm under his vessel's skin, and Crowley exhales in one shuddering breath.

"I can feel your grace," Gabriel says softly, arm curling around his middle for only a moment, before it slides down and ducks beneath the hem of his pants, "It's...ah, it's warm."

Crowley opens his mouth to say something, but then Gabriel's hand is wrapping around his vessel's cock, and so all he can manage is to jerk his hips forward in surprise, letting out a choked noise. Gabriel grins, feral and pleased, and squeezes just gently. He starts working his hand along the length of him, jerking him off in this slow, agonizing way that leaves Crowley sort of breathless and very desperate. He tries to rock his hips to the pace Gabriel sets, to get more, but he's determined to not give him what he wants, not entirely. Crowley isn't surprised because that's how it usually is with Gabriel, him giving but never enough - he rubs his thumb along the slit, smears precome over him and Crowley makes a choked noise in his throat.

"Gabriel--fuck..."

"That's a good idea," Gabriel growls, his other hand moving to push at his pants, ease them down off his hips, "We should."

Crowley's not sure how he ended up basically undressed while Gabriel still has all his clothes on. But he's not surprised, honestly, because this is fairly typical for them and he makes a quiet noise and eases his fingers into the open spaces between his buttons of his flannel. It only takes a little force, and he's got the shirt open, Gabriel's chest bare beneath him. and he bows his head to his throat to suck a mark onto the skin. He can see the bulge in Gabriel's pants, even as the demon works his hand along his cock, squeezing and pumping gently and slowly, teasing, sending pleasurable little chills down along his spine. It's hard to concentrate. He tips his head enough to watch, deciding he likes the way the head of his cock vanishes into his closed fist, the slick sounds it makes, the way he twists his wrist just so, just enough to send heat burning under his skin. It's almost like torture. Gabriel knows torture. Gabriel is an expert in torture.

Crowley sits back then, cock sliding free of Gabriel's grasp and reaches out, palming him through his jeans, and the sounds he makes are incredible, needy little mewls and moans as his hips shift to meet his hand. It's amazing, watching a creature like him fall apart in his hand,s and his cock twitches at the thought of taking him apart, like he has all the other times before.

"You like that?" he breathes as his hands move to work the button on his jeans open, "Hm?"

Gabriel nods. Crowley just grins, and the zipper is entirely too loud as it rasps open and then Gabriel's vessel's cock springs free, leaking precome, and Crowley raises an eyebrow at him.

"You're going commando?"

Gabriel shrugs and thrusts his hips up impatiently. His cock smears precome across his belly, over the faint trail of hair from his belly button, "Seemed quicker to just forgo boxers. Less clothing to deal with."

Makes sense.

And somehow it's ridiculously hot, beyond ridiculous, to envision him walking around without anything underneath, doing his deals ready to be fucked by an angel. It's weird, but definitely not a bad thing, and Crowley leans down to kiss him solidly in the mouth as a reward for his creativity. Gabriel kisses back, sucks his tongue into his mouth and moans against his lips when Crowley finally curls a hand around him properly and starts to jerk him off. He can feel his pulse, and Gabriel whines and rocks up to meet his pace. He wants him, he wants him more than he's ever wanted anything, and when he kisses him this time, he nudges his legs wider with his thighs. Gabriel is surprisingly obedient, complying and giving him the room he wants, and when Crowley pulls back to press two precome slick fingers to Gabriel's lips, he obeys, sliding his tongue along them before he takes them into his mouth. 

Sure, it would be easy to skip any foreplay, to get right down to fucking, hard and fast and dirty, but there's something satisfying about doing it the more human way, the way his Father intended, all sensual, easy touches and gentle. They had done it the more violent way; he had bent Gabriel over the nearest solid surface and fucked him, hard and vicious and thoughtless, felt him fight against him, grabbed around his throat and squeezed as he rocked into him, dry and impatient. It had been satisfying, Heaven help him, it had been good, but it had felt hollow and wrong and not like this.

His fingers slide free of Gabriel's mouth, and he wastes no time in pressing them into him. His back arches like a drawn bowstring, black eyes sliding shut, and he likes him like this the most, the way his legs shake and his body tenses around his fingers. Crowley wonders how it feels for him, in his vessel, if the pleasure is like how it is for him in his host body.

Beneath him, Gabriel whines, "Come on. Come on, I want--Hell, angel, what are you waiting for? Just... now."

That's all the urging he needs, honestly. 

Crowley spits into his palm, slicks his cock, and presses in - the magic he uses to ease the way helps, he's sure, but he's also sure Gabriel likes the pain, likes it when he isn't treated like fragile, breakable glass. Gabriel is warm around him and so tight that he nearly can't breathe, can't think, can't focus on anything other than him as he leans down over him, props himself up with hands on either side of his head. Gabriel grins up at him, and his wings curl around them both, pressing cool to the center of Crowley's bare back.

For a long second, he just sits, buried to the hilt in him, pressed close, and it's Gabriel who leans up to kiss him, just lightly on the mouth. It's tender and not like him, and Crowley just blinks at him before Gabriel rocks back against him. It sends heat straight to his groin, and Crowley gets the message loud and clear. 

He draws back to push forward again, fucking into him, and Gabriel's arms twine around his neck to keep him close. Crowley lowers to his elbows, and he can feel Gabriel's cock, pressed warm to his belly, with each thrust.

Gabriel is muttering in Enochian, quietly, and the points of his claws press to his shoulder blades. They bite in, draw blood, and it's all part of it, the pleasure-pain thing they have between them. Somehow, it works.

But what would the other angels think, if they could see him now, with a demon writhing underneath him, rocking back onto his cock, moaning his name in Enochian. What would the Heavenly Host have to say if they could see one of their strongest and wisest fucking into the one creature they loathed most? And a Knight, of all things. They'd be ashamed, they'd be disgusted - they'd probably kill him, and then attempt to destroy Gabriel.

"Fuck," Crowley breathes, kissing at Gabriel's neck almost blindly, wherever his mouth makes contact, "You--ah."

Gabriel turns his head to catch his mouth and Crowley rewards him with an extra hard thrust, one that slides him up the bed, and he nearly thumps his head against the headboard. He sets a pace that is driving and almost desperate. Gabriel doesn't seem to mind, thrusting uselessly to grind his cock against his belly and after a second, he shifts to reach between them and wrap a hand around his cock and start pumping. The sound Gabriel makes is a mix of a whine and a groan, low pitched and breathy, and he rocks into him a bit faster. He can feel the warmth spreading through him, this tingling heat that starts at the base of his cock, running hot under his skin.

He's close; he's become hyper aware of Gabriel's every movement, the press of his wings to his spine, the way they smooth against the base of his, the heat of his chest pressed to his, his legs pressed to his thighs, the tight heat of him, and he feels almost drunk from it. That tingling warmth that's been burning through him seems to center in his gut before washing outward like waves, and he can only pump harder along Gabriel's cock as he comes. His thrusts get harder, less controlled and his grace bleeds through, envelops around them like a blanket, white hot - it makes Gabriel sweat, makes his body shake and tremble beneath him, and when Crowley opens his eyes (when did he close them?) he sees Gabriel staring up at him, eyes wide and black, blinking slow.

"Your..." He swallows, reaching up to smooth his hands along the edge of the cloak covering his face, "I can see it."

Crowley keeps moving his hand along the length of his cock, continues to jerk him off, still buried in him, and Gabriel's hand falls from his hood against the mattress. His grace continues to seep and fill the room, warm and comforting and familiar, and Gabriel seems to revel in it, even though it's probably mildly unpleasant to have it wrapped around him.

Gabriel's back arches off the bed when he comes, gasping Crowley's name and a slew of Enochian that Crowley struggles to translate in his head. He goes boneless, closing his eyes as his wings flop against the bed. He blinks up at Crowley, satiated and sleepy, before he reaches up and hooks an arm around his neck to drag him down for a kiss. It's open mouthed and lazy, his tongue dragging along his lower lip in a way that's probably meant to be teasing but is more affectionate and gentle. When he drops back, he smiles at him, and Crowley feels this strange twist in his stomach.

"Your true face is... ah, I like it."

"I'm surprised you still have eyes," Crowley teases, "Most don't."

"I'm not most," Gabriel replies, nuzzling against the crook of his neck. The curl of his horns bump against his jawline, and he hums affectionately; "Sleep now. This whole saving the world business is stupidly exhausting."

Crowley snorts, "You're just lazy."

His wing thumps against his spine, and he nips at his neck, “Don't be an ass."

"I'm not."

"You are so. Your pillow talk could seriously use some work."

Another thump against his spine, though this time it's considerably gentler. Crowley isn't sure when they became like this, cuddling and sweet talking each other. He kind of thinks he could get used to it.

 

* * *

 

_Dean Winchester is lost._

That's what wakes Crowley up the next morning, curled to Gabriel's side, his wing draped cool and loose against his back.

The angels are basically shouting across the radio, shrieking about it, and Crowley groans as he presses his face back into the darkness of Gabriel's throat.

 _Dean Winchester is lost_.

"What?"

Gabriel's clawed fingers slide along his spine and send chills along his skin before he reaches to knead his hands into his feathers. The touch is familiar, almost gentle, and Crowley wishes he didn't enjoy it as much as he does. It would certainly make untangling himself from Gabriel that much easier. As it is, he knows he's far too attached to the demon.

"The angels," Crowley grumbles, "They're being annoying. Loud."

"What are they saying?"

Gabriel sounds genuinely curious. Crowley sighs and sits up enough to look over at him. Gabriel is sprawled on his belly, head turned so he can blink at him.

"Dean Winchester is lost."

 

* * *

 

In the end, Sam Winchester holds strong.

Crowley had expected him to break once Dean was gone, lost to Michael somewhere in a dark corner of his own mind. But he doesn't. He never says yes to Lucifer. Never even seems to consider the idea as feasible, which infuriates his brother, just like Crowley knew it would. Sam is a smart man - his brother had been no match for Michael, and he had known he wouldn't be able to fight off Lucifer's influence.

In the end, it's Adam Milligan who says yes to Lucifer. He had dragged the poor boy out of Heaven the minute Michael broke free, and it doesn't surprise Crowley that his brother had a back up plan all along, in case Sam refused. Adam's body had to be wearing thin now, though, had to be wasting away from the heavy burn of Lucifer's grace, beautiful and powerful. The Morning Star.

For the first time in centuries, Crowley prays - he prays that his Father comes back to right this, to intervene and correct his sons, tell them he never wanted this kind of destruction for his most cherished creations. He prays for Gabriel, curled on the mattress asleep, that he may find salvation and peace. He prays for Sam and Dean, that they may find safety and success, and for Ruby, the mighty soldier who has fallen from Heaven for her boys. He prays for Adam, tricked by an angel meant to protect humanity. He prays that his brothers may realize the foolishness of their actions. He prays for himself, that he may find guidance and resolution in his search, and that he may also find peace. But he knows the sad truth is that they're all damned, and all he can do is run his hands over Gabriel's wings, marvel silently at the simplicity of their design, the elegant curve of bone and the softness of the membrane. At some point, Gabriel wakes up and outstretches an arm to him, and Crowley accepts it, curls up beside him and covers them with his own wings.

Gabriel senses the shift in his mood and looks at him oddly, blinking gold eyes at him but Crowley just shakes his head, and he doesn't question it any further.

Lucifer comes to him.

He shows up in the hotel parking lot, ripping through the wards like they're not even there, leaving them burning and tattered and exposed. It jolts him out of a sleep he didn't mean to fall into, feeling the magic burn away, and he's on his feet before the door even bangs open.

Adam is dead again.

He's long gone, all that remains is the body, surprisingly intact and Crowley backs up a bit at the heavy swell of Lucifer's grace. He may have been young, barely older than a fledging, when Michael was cast down but he's grown now, mighty and terrible, infinite in his strength and his power. His grace is nearly blinding, brilliant and beautiful like the morning sun, and Crowley cringes against it. He's outmanned, outgunned, outmatched, but he slides his angel blade into his palm anyway and grips it tightly.

"I heard you," Lucifer says by way of greeting, "Your prayers, brother. I have come to answer them. Come to bring you my salvation, so you may find peace and absolution."

"I was looking for Father."

"He's not there."

"Lucifer, don't do this. Father wouldn't want this," Crowley tries, even though he's fully aware of how futile that will be, "He loves humanity. He wouldn't want-"

"And you think that I don't?"

"You've got a really shitty way of showing that, Featherhead."

Lucifer then seems to notice Gabriel, now also on his feet, vessel gone to show the true majesty of his form. Crowley would think it beautiful if he weren't so focused on his brother, who is looking at Gabriel like one might look at a stain on the rug. He's staring at him like he's offensive, like he's some ugly mark on an otherwise clean mirror and Crowley is mildly surprised that Gabriel hasn't fled yet. Sticking around and self-sacrifice aren't exactly his strongest suits.

Yet he's here now. 

"Ah, Gabriel," Lucifer blinks in a slow, detached way and he reminds Crowley of a puppet, moving in an awkward and clunky way at the puppeteer's whim, "It's been a long time. I was under the impression that all the Knights had been destroyed centuries ago. And yet, here you are. I must say, I'm impressed," he pauses and turns his attention back to Crowley, and the lights must come on for him, he must realize their comfort together, the familiarity, "Oh, brother. Tell me you haven't."

"Lucifer-"

"You're more lost than I originally perceived, brother. This saddens me, to know how far you have fallen from us that you must seek companionship in this abomination."

Gabriel's wings flare angrily, "Hey asshole. Watch who you're calling an abomination."

Lucifer's grace swells around them, fills the room and all the empty spaces, and Crowley grits his teeth against the sheer weight of it. Gabriel nearly buckles, his discomfort evident in the way his wings flatten to his back and holy shit, when did he get this powerful?

"You will address me with respect, you insect," Lucifer steps closer to him, and the lights in the room flicker, a few of the bulbs blowing with loud pops, "You overestimate yourself or you underestimate me. At any rate, it's a foolish thing for you to do. I expected better. Really, I did."

"Man," Gabriel's lips curl into a pained sneer, "you must really like the sound of your own voice. You don't shut up. I'd hate to see what you'd be like if you actually got Sam to say-"

Lucifer's grace crackles angrily around them before Gabriel is flung against the nearest wall. His body connects with a sickeningly loud thud and Crowley cringes from it, pushes back at Lucifer's grace to try and breathe. Gabriel doesn't move from the heap he's in.

"What a pest," Lucifer sniffs, "a fitting end to a broken, useless human being. Weak in life and weak in death, it seems."

Crowley's own grace swells angrily, white hot and furious, and he grits his teeth as more of his true form bleeds past the vessel. That seems to be enough to catch his brother's attention - he looks away from Gabriel's prone form to blink curiously at him in that same detached, vacant way, his eyes moving along the length of Crowley's flared wings to the hood covering his face to his hands, one white knuckled around his blade's hilt. He blinks once, then twice, then tips his head.

"You're angry. Why?"

"You know why."

Lucifer turns his head to look back at Gabriel, blinking slow before he turns back to Crowley, "Because of that abomination? You'd face me for that?"

Crowley can't help the snarl in his throat or the anger prickling under his vessel's skin like hot needles, burning on contact, "I'd face you for less."

Lucifer taps a finger to his lips thoughtfully, humming it over before he sighs, "That's a shame. I had hoped we could stand together."

"Hell will freeze over first."

"Hm. Perhaps," Lucifer smiles, and it's cold and distant, and it raises the hair on his neck, "You won't be around to see that, at any rate."

Crowley barely has time to register what his brother has said before Lucifer has moved and there's a sharp, searing pain rippling through his vessel. It's almost as if someone is trying to pry him out of it, and his grace floods free, washes out over the room. When he looks down, there's an angel blade buried to the hilt in his gut, his vessel's blood smeared along Adam's hands, bright red and dripping. The noise that slips out of his throat is small and surprised and he lifts his eyes to meet Lucifer's.

"This is God's will," his voice is a hushed whisper, and he twists the blade in deeper, sends sharp sparks of pain jolting under his skin like lightning, "This is how it has to be. If you're not with me, brother, then you're against me."

The last thing he sees is Gabriel's face, eyes wide and horrified, before he lunges at Lucifer's back.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel finds Ruby nearly six months after the end that never came, standing in a field, watching Sam pitch a ball for a dog. There's a woman standing with him, their arms linked at the elbows and there's something almost sad and lonely about her expression. She has her hands full, Gabriel knows, dealing with Abaddon and her ridiculous idea to kick start the apocalypse that never was. He'd heard his fair share of rumours in The Pit, the main one being that Ruby was at a glaring disadvantage against the Archangel.  Which is why her being here watching Sam Winchester, and not in Heaven, is such a vital piece of information for him. It told him everything he needs to know and probably everything she didn't want him to know.

"What do you want?" Ruby asks, still not taking her eyes off Sam, though her wings stretch out, feathers puffed and flared. She folds them back down again after a few moments, and Gabriel knows it's meant to be an intimidation technique; "I have no business with you."

"I want to make a deal. Mutually beneficial."

She turns to look at him then and raises an eyebrow, "I'm an angel. I don't make deals with demons. And besides, genius, I don't have a soul to sell."

Gabriel shrugs, "I'm aware of that. But I need your help, and I know you want the strength to wipe out Abaddon and keep the gruesome twosome in the Cage. Don't you?"

That seems to catch her interest. Gabriel smiles.

"I can get you that strength, Ruby."

"How?"

"Purgatory."

She scoffs and turns back to Sam, "You want to go after Purgatory? You're insane. Go away."

"Not even gonna hear me out?"

"No."

But Gabriel knows he's got her interested, got the wheels in her brain working and after a long few moments, she looks back at him again. She's here for a reason, he knows, she's here for Sam's help with this war. Gabriel knows Archangels better than he'd like to admit and he knows Abaddon is particularly vicious. She'd cut Ruby down, and she would do it in a heartbeat. He's surprised she hasn't yet.  But maybe it has something to do with the incident in the cemetery - he knows from the demons loyal to him what went down during the great showdown, how Ruby had been reduced to a bloody paste. Still, here she is, and Gabriel knows it's His doing. So she serves a purpose to Him which makes her valuable to Heaven again. She frowns at him and crosses her arms over her chest.

"What do you get out of it if I don't have a soul to trade you?"

Bingo.

"It's simple. Without Michael, every demon that isn't loyal to me directly is going to start running around free and doing what they want. Simply because they can. And I don't want that any more than you do. Chaos only serves a purpose for so long, sweetheart," He steps a little closer to her, weaves his way around her so he's blocking her view of Sam, who has slung an affectionate arm around the woman's shoulder, "So I need to be as strong as possible in order to reign them in, and Purgatory can help me with that. Demons understand fear. I need them to fear me. You lot need them to fear me. I want the Wonder Twins to stay on lock-down as well. That should go without saying. So, it seems to me that our ends are the same, and l think we could help one another. Scratch each other's backs, as they say."

Sure, he has other reasons for wanting to get to Purgatory, but he doesn't need to tell her that - that part isn't even relevant, he thinks, it really serves no purpose to her, so he could keep it for himself and not tell her.

Ruby watches him with a critical eye, though her gaze eventually shifts past him to look at Sam. She frowns; "Who says I even need your help? It sounds like you need me more than I need you."

Gabriel steps to stand beside her, curls a wing around her to keep her close and he can feel the faint tingle of her grace as her temper spikes. Good, he thinks, anger will cloud logic.

"So you're not here to ask Sam for help?" He asks and he doesn't fail to notice the way she bristles, "You're just, what? Taking a break from your war to admire the view? He does have a nice ass, but I've always been partial to Dean--"

She makes an annoyed noise and flares her wings enough to shove him back, and Gabriel grins at her.

"And when you betray me? What then?"

"Betray? Please. I'm the Devil you know. I want nothing but the best for you and your little rag tag brother bunch. Besides, I helped in the past. Even gave ol' Bobby Boy his legs back. And for free, too. I've kept my word. I don't need to lie."

Ruby huffs, "Demons lie."

"Stereotypes are hurtful, Ruby. Not all demons lie."

Ruby just makes a face and huffs, looking back to Sam, who has knelt down to pet the dog. Something flickers briefly across Ruby's expression, and Gabriel just sighs.

"Look, would you really rather have him involved? Have him help? What happens if Abaddon hears? You think she won't kill him?"

Ruby's looks at him sharply, "Leave him out of this."

"Why should I? You're not going to," Gabriel says, stepping away from her to wander closer to Sam, "I mean, one of them is down doing the Hellfire tango with Mikey and Luci. Maybe Sam should go and join them..."

Ruby goes after him, steps her way in front of him, wings flared, "I would never let Abaddon touch him."

"Could you even stop her?" Gabriel reaches out and tugs on one of her feathers and it slides free. It's downy and soft, inky blue, and he twirls it between his fingers thoughtfully, "You might be all juiced up but you're still an ant to Abaddon. A flea."

"You have my answer. Go away."

Gabriel rolls his eyes, "You've bitten off more than you can chew, and you're being delusional about it. What happens if Abaddon wins? You want to protect him? Then use your head."

"And what if this doesn't work?" Ruby asks, "You can't be sure that Purgatory even has what we're looking for. And how do we even get to Purgatory?"

"You're joking. I'm the King of Hell now. I know," Gabriel scoffs, "And that's why I need you, Angel. I need the door."

Ruby scowls - the expression is almost stormy, and she looks back at Sam, straightened again, watches as he pitches the ball for his dog, laughing as it bolts off to fetch it. The woman has sat down on a nearby blanket and is smiling at him.

"This will work?"

"I don't think you have any other options," Gabriel admits, and he finds that he means it, "Do we have a deal?"

Ruby turns away from Sam and nods, "We have a deal. I'll help you find Purgatory."

Gabriel can't help his grin, "Great."

Without warning, he leans in and kisses her soundly on the mouth, and her wings flare, curling around her body to shove him hard to the side. From the corner of his eye, Gabriel catches Sam looking in their direction, confused frown on his face but the woman he's with calls his name and takes his attention from them.

Gabriel just grins wider and reaches out to grab Ruby's arm, pulling her off through the veil, pleased to know that he's managed to get what he wants once again.


End file.
